What the Fuck are you Doing?

Rodine is great. She's over six feet tall, beautiful and really, really smart. She says, "My head wants to say, 'what the fuck are you doing, Mike?', but my heart wants to say", and here she gently purrs, "just stop".

On the one hand it doesn't make a lick of sense that I am a neighborhood association president. On the other hand, it's the obvious mathematical product of "king Mike"–as the crew called me out on back in high school–combined with the eclectic lover of people and culture Dad was and the co-dependent eternal servant from mom's side.

It's been about three years as the first president of the Historic Brownsville (the "historic" part of the name is annoying) Community organization president. "Mayor of Brownsville", Siket said.

The diversity of the group, as of the neighborhood, is significant. We are putting on a street festival, working towards rectifying the four lane highway that ravaged the center of the community in 1979.

In other news, I still struggle with compulsive behavior, Rivka's sparse little beard is coming in slowly, Rinah got her own phone yesterday (turning ten) and we are getting deeply into Ifa/Orisha, particularly the music. Rivka made like 35 bead necklaces (ileke) for the Ile (temple) over the past week or so. I've got the priestesses pissed at me at least once.

Time to have a 4am jump in the kiddie pool to baptize away the sins of last night and perhaps grab a couple more hours of sleep before sunrise. Thanks for reading.